


Rough Day

by orphan_account



Category: Gundam SEED
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-20
Updated: 2005-04-20
Packaged: 2017-11-14 16:13:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/517188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yzak suffers the aftermath of being bombarded by the press. At least he isn't alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rough Day

Yzak flipped on the ceiling fan and fell backward onto the couch; he was exhausted, to say the least.

As if the entire council being all over his ass wasn't enough, he'd almost literally been buried in reporters. One of them smelled like rotting cheese, too, he randomly recalled, and a small grin spread across his face. He could get used to that kind of attention, had it been for a different reason.

The grin left just as quickly as it came, and he rubbed his fingers across his throbbing forehead. Only his failures came to the attention of the press; his feats meant nothing. Sometimes he wished he could just grab them all by the necks and have them begging for mercy. Riotous behavior would've just made things worse, he decided with much disappointment, and turned his body on his side.

The side facing the couch cushion.

He heard a deep click from the other side of the room, and immediately knew who it was. Yzak didn't turn around; he wasn't in the mood.

"You're home late," Dearka addressed as he approached the couch, and gently pushed Yzak's feet aside as he took a seat. He didn't bother to ask how the day went... not that his was any better. The sudden jolt of pain that shot through his right arm reminded him of how not-fun his day was.

"Great guess, genius. What ever gave you that idea?"

Dearka pulled Yzak's feet onto his lap with his free hand, and didn't say anything. He already caught a mere glimpse of what Yzak went through on television, and he didn't blame him for being so exhausted. Just a bunch of rabid dogs reporters were.

Without thinking about it, Dearka slowly began to rub his free fingers up and down Yzak's ankle, and tried to ignore that sharp sting in his other arm.

The ZAFT medical center was low on supplies for "traitors", resulting in him getting one of the crappier fitting slings. He wasn't even able to sleep the previous night because of that... among other things.

"I should've been there," he said quietly, and leaned his head back.

"No," Yzak said, his voice faint.

"They nearly gunned you down." Dearka's eyes traveled down to the floor, and a small sigh escaped his lips. How often did this have to happen? Why was all the hatred of ZAFT suddenly directed on Yzak?

He may have been the one to hire the traitor, but wasn't the traitor himself a more worthy target?

Yzak knew damn well how it would be. When that bullet came flying toward him, standing in the way of it was the least Dearka could've done, being the body guard. He got showered with contempt for his stupidity as they fled, and all he could do was smile and thread his fingers through Yzak's slightly fringed hair once they came to a stop. They had quite a ways to go before they were completely safe.

The burning question flew right at him, once they reached safter territory.

"Why?" No more, no less. Yzak remained poised, in spite of his feelings. He could've taken that gunshot just as easily.

"I never really had anything important to want to protect before."

The clock struck ten, and Yzak sat up.

"I'm going to take a shower. Did you change your bandages?"

"Yeah, I'm good." Before Yzak could get up, Dearka took him by the arm and kissed him tenderly. After a rough day at work, it was the least Yzak deserved. It was the littlest bit of strength his body guard had to give. They'd find away around this issue somehow.

Yzak pulled back and headed for the shower without saying a word. He was too drained to think of anything to say. "Thank You" was too lame, yet he wasn't in much of a gushy, feely mood that particular night.

Dearka understood, and headed back for their room. At least now he'd have someone to stare at the dull, off-white ceiling with.

End


End file.
